


Days and counting

by Backroadsspirit



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, Gen, Maybe I just wanted to project my worries onto the Winchesters okay?, Panic Attacks, Quarantine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:01:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23669581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Backroadsspirit/pseuds/Backroadsspirit
Summary: Sam thinks he knows what it´s like being stuck inside with Dean. That he´s made his peace with confined spaces. And that he could never get tired of the bunker´s library. Turns out, he is wrong on all accounts.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 10





	Days and counting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [soncnica](https://archiveofourown.org/users/soncnica/gifts).



> Hey everyone:)  
> I could open this by writing something about the "strange times" we live in or making a clever quarantine joke, but I think we´ve all heard the former enough and other people are much funnier when it comes to the latter, so I won´t.
> 
> Instead, I just projected all of my muddled thoughts and feelings onto the Winchesters and serve it up here with a hefty dose of unbetaed prose. Which I am sure others have done way better and more original than me.  
> Also, could the boys easily have gone outside their secret bunker in the middle of nowhere and enjoy the outdoors without endangering anyone? Probably. But so many other can´t right now and I felt it was right to make the Winchesters share this predicament. 
> 
> I hope you´re all staying safe and sane, wherever you are, and that this can bring a little smile to your face:) And a special shout-out to Soncnica, who is a great beta-reader and person and had a birthday not too long ago, so I figured I´d dedicate this to her:)

He has to admit that it all comes a little bit out of nowhere. There are following a streak of nasty poltergeists in Nebraska when the first hints of the crisis show up on his newsfeeds. He actually does a little digging that night, just to make sure there´s nothing supernatural going on. The next morning, he is a little more tired, reasonably sure nothing is wrong that they could fix and ready to forget about the whole thing. Because surely, it won´t be so bad.

He and his brother lose themselves in the case for a couple of days and only when the last grave is dug up and its inhabitant properly laid to rest do the news catch up with them again.

"As the number of cases in the U.S. continues to rise-"

"Could this be our thing?" Dean interrupts the voice of the news anchor, eyebrows drawn together.

"Nah, already checked."

"Mh." Dean leans back in the driver´s seat, his fingers patting a silent rhythm on the wheel. Sam counts the beats, tries to figure out the song.

"Still. Kinda fucked up, if you ask me." Dean shakes his head, tries to change the station and only gets static. With a huff, he turns the radio off and resumes tapping on the wheel, this time humming along under his breath.

_"I see a bad moon rising."_

It feels like foreboding.

* * *

They make it back to the bunker that night, grab their respective gear and stumble in opposite directions towards the next available horizontal surface, the news momentarily forgotten for more pressing matters. When Sam wakes up an indeterminable amount of time later, he has several missed calls and messages on his phone.

Jody. Donna. Claire and Alex. Eileen.

All of them some variation of "Have you heard?" and "Where are you?" and "Are you okay".

With a growing feeling of dread, he opens his browser.

By the time he makes it all the way to the kitchen, the dread has transformed into something closer to panic than he is willing to admit and he nearly collides with Dean in the doorway.

"Dude, have you-?"

"Holy shit, you trying to give me a heart - Sam? What´s wrong?" Dean barely manages to avoid spilling his coffee, but one look at his face stops him mid-sentence. Without a word, he turns his phone screen towards his brother and watches his eyebrows climb up to his hairline.

"Global pandemic? Stay-at-home-orders? Is this some kind of joke?"

"Wish it was." He bites his lip, tries to stop his hands from shaking as Dean continues reading, but after a second his brother takes the phone and turns back to the kitchen table, eyes still glued to the screen.

"There´s eggs in the pan" he mutters absentmindedly, jerking his chin towards the stove without raising his head. Sam opens a cupboard, grabs a plate and a coffee mug and fills both, all the while feeling like a robot. Like he woke up inside a bizarre dream. Like the walls are slowly closing in on him.

Like he is getting a panic attack.

He doesn´t register dropping his mug, only hears it shatter at his feet, coffee spilling over the floor and seeping into his socks and he tries to focus on that, hot liquid on soft fabric, and breathing, in and out, like he taught himself, in and out, but there is no air, no fucking air and-

"Hey, hey, easy. Easy, Sammy."

Dean´s voice is echo-y and muffled, like he has a blanket over his head, but his hands are warm and strong and solid on his shoulders.

"Breath with me, okay? You got his, man, you´re doing great"

His brother´s words wash over him like a calming breeze, the sentences bleeding together as he tries to breath and slowly, _slowly,_ it feels less like sucking solid concrete through a straw.

"There you go. Come on, don´t stop now." He feels himself being guided over to a chair, a hand gently pressing down on his shoulders until his ass hits the surface and then further down, until his head hangs between his knees. After a couple more breaths, the floor beneath him gently swims back into focus. Dean is there with him, right hand on his shoulder and they stay like that, just breathing, until he feels like he can talk again.

"Sorry."

"Don´t be an idiot." Dean cuffs him gently on the side of the head and he loves him for it. For not asking or suggesting or advising, but just getting it. He´s seen the cage. And he knows Sam better than he knows himself, most of the time.

Sam sits up slowly while Dean starts cleaning up the mess on the floor."So, looks like we will be here for a while. Good thing we stocked up before we left for Nebraska, so there´s no danger of running out of beer for a couple weeks." He cracks a smile and Sam feels his own lips twitch in response.

"That´s reassuring."

"Damn right. The way I see it, this is our chance to take the holiday we never get."

After making sure they really have all the groceries they need for at least a week and calling back a very concerned but otherwise healthy Eileen and then Jody, who promises to pass on the message, Dean goes back to bed with the intention to "sleep until there is a me-shaped hole in the mattress".

Sam starts organizing the armory.

* * *

On the second day, he moves on to the library while Dean gets to work cleaning the Impala and fixing the opening mechanism of the trunk that made weird noises the last couple of weeks. By the time the evening rolls around, the car is as shiny as Dean is dirty and he drags Sam away from the library for a home-made burger and a Star Wars marathon.

* * *

By the fourth day, the novelty of sleeping late and watching TV has worn off and Dean starts "helping" Sam organize the library by suggesting they sort the books by spine color ("Don´t be ridiculous, Dean"), accidentally misplacing titles ("I swear, I just put it right there!"), nearly falling of a ladder laughing at the sight of a somewhat crude depiction of sexual intercourse as part of a moonlight ritual from one of the more obscure tomes stored by the Men of Letters ("I swear, it looks like he has three balls") and asking questions about Sam´s favorite library classification system until he forgot what he was about to do. ("It´s Dewey Decimal. Obviously").

* * *

The fifth day starts off rough. From the second he wakes up, it feels like there is an itch right beneath his skin, like the air in the bunker is too thin and he can feel the weight of the walls pressing in. He knows he´s being irrational, that there have been other times when he would have spent weeks inside the bunker without ever venturing outside for more than a run, but the fact that he now feels like he _can´t_ makes his heart miss a beat here and there. And not even the thought of spending the whole day in the library makes him feel any better.

Even though this is his home. Even though _he_ can´t be here.

If Dean notices him sticking around the garage watching him get to work on an old motorcycle left by the MoL he previously deemed unfixable for much longer than he usually would, he doesn´t mention it.

* * *

On the seventh day, they go into town to stock up on groceries and other non-perishables. Sam savors every second of it, the fresh air, the grey sky overhead, the open road before them. He almost feels like the whole thing was a lie, after all, like the world is perfectly fine. At least until they arrive in Lebanon.

The streets are nearly deserted and the few people they see make wide berths around each other. Some of them wear facemasks. And there is a line of people outside the grocery store that goes down two blocks, because everyone keeps their distance from the person in front of them. There is also a sign stating that only one person is allowed to enter the store at a time.

After a serious round of rock-paper-scissors, Dean rushes off and Sam swears he can see a gleeful bounce in his steps as he approaches the end of the line. An hour later, Dean plops back down on the driver´s seat with a sigh, a bag that contains only half of what they need and a pensive expression. "I´ve seen some weird shit in my time, but this is something else. There was some shitty pop music playing in there while an old lady looked like she was about to cry in front of the empty noodle isle. It felt like in some experimental horror flick. Also, we still don´t have toilet paper."

They repeat the process at another grocery store a town over. This time, Sam ventures out and manages to get noodles and paper tissues (still no toilet paper) along with a weird feeling he can`t put into words until they are on their way back.

"You know what´s fucked up?"

"Your excuse for a haircut?" Dean smirks and he rolls his eyes, but it feels a little fake, a little put-upon.

"Seeing all the people in town, wearing facemasks and staying away from each other as if everyone is poisonous or something, it was kinda comforting." He shakes his head, tastes shame for saying this out loud. But Dean nods. "I know what you mean. Usually, it´s only us seeing the apocalypse coming, while everyone else gets to pretend nothing´s wrong."

Sam exhales, feels a weight lift. "Yeah."

"Well", Dean casts him a sidelong glance. "Looks like we´re all in it together, this time."

Sam tries to keep that in mind as he closes the entrance door behind him.

* * *

On the ninth day, he burns the eggs at breakfast and Dean leaves him nothing but cold water to shower and they fight over lunch about something meaningless, flinging petty insults and hitting where it hurts because they´re not brothers for nothing before retreating to their corners of the bunker for the rest of the day. They meet again close to midnight in the kitchen, both carrying two beers and an apologetic expression on their faces.

"Hey, dude-"

"Forget it."

"Forget what?" Dean grins, sets down one can and opening the other. Waits till Sam clinks their cans together.

"Nothing. Cheers."

* * *

"You know what? I take it back." It´s the fourteenths day and they just finished breakfast. Sam sips his coffee while Dean scrolls through his phone, an astounded expression on his face.

"People are awesome, after all."

Before Sam can ask, he turns his phone and shows him pictures of care workers wearing photos of themselves on their uniforms so patients can see who´s behind the mask. Neighbors coming together to help their elderly landlord get groceries. Children painting rainbows and hanging them in their windows. Hears thousands of people applauding those fighting for others´ lives from their balconies at sunset.

"Guess the world was worth saving", Dean mutters. Sam wants to say something back, something profound and true, but the words get lost somewhere between his heart and his tongue.

"You deserve applause too", he says that night, as they are folding laundry and watching The Office reruns.

"Huh?" Dean tosses a matching pair of socks into the bag.

"For saving the world. Even if nobody knows about that."

His brother´s head jerks up, but before he can answer, he adds: "I know you don´t want it. Or anything like that. But you´d deserve it."

The smile Dean gives him is slow, surprised and something else, something he can´t name that warms him to the bone. "Well. You do, too."

* * *

On day 20, Dean downloads Tik Tok and wrenches his back trying to imitate one of the more complex dance moves. He spends two days lying on the couch whining. Sam tries to keep his teasing to a minimum. But he saves the video clip of Dean dancing. And if he sent it to Jody, that was totally an accident.

* * *

He doesn´t know what day it is when it´s finally over. They decide to walk into town, because it´s not that far and because they can. The spring is slowly turning to summer around them, the sun warm on his face and he has to stop himself from skipping like a child a couple of times.

They get in line at the first ice cream place they come across. The people in the queue still keep a certain distance from each other, but they don´t let that stop them from talking to each other, sharing stories from tiny apartments and home-schools, fights over the remote and a newfound love for puzzles, deep-cleaned closets and skype calls and something called Tiger King. It´s a random Tuesday, Sam´s phone tells him, but it feels like a holiday.

Dean stands next to him, taking in the scene, his eyes shining. "Man, I´d never thought I´d miss people this much. Stop me before I hug a random stranger."

Sam laughs. "And here I thought you enjoyed being locked up with me 24/7."

His brother grins, more fondness than anything else. "I guess there are worse people to get stuck with."

Maybe it´s the sunlight or the smell of early summer or the laughing children in line before him, but he suddenly has a lump in his throat that stops his snarky response halfway.

In the end, he rolls his eyes and mutters something about "Jerks" that earns him a "Bitch" and a jab to the side. But that´s all it needs, really, to say what he means.

_I love you, too._


End file.
